obsidian flame
by wild wolf free17
Summary: It's a beautiful day, but no one's around to see it. - AU with dragons-
1. the color of a rose when it bleeds

**Title**: the color of a rose when it bleeds

**Disclaimer**: the nameless king and his brother aren't mine; written because I'm sick and twisted and _disturbed_. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: future!fic, mentions of character death; creepy; AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 1000

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: experimental

* * *

It's autumn, trees red and gold, leaves falling to carpet the dirt. There's a chill breeze, blue sky arching overhead, cloudless and clear. The streets are empty, buildings abandoned.

It's a beautiful day, but no one's around to see it.

-

Those who survived(few and far between) say it began in the northwest, somewhere in Montana. (_What used to be the United States, America. Now hush, child. Let the story flow.) _They're not sure why(_anyone who knew, well… they were prob'ly close to the beginning, so no way they made it out.) _

It doesn't matter why. It just happened, the Earth dying beneath their feet, the air turning to poison. Everything crumbling to a ruin before their frightened, disbelieving eyes.

Except some survived, for whatever reason. A handful of plants, enough to make new air. Some mammals, most water animals, a few reptiles. Insects, arachnids. And birds; those humans that made it, when they looked up at the sky and saw birds? Knew there was hope.

And hope, cruel as it was, made them keep going.

-

There is no government, just small societies. It's easiest to live in the mountains, so that's where most folks head.

Soon enough, the poison tapers off and nature flourishes, bouncing back with a fervor unmatched since the Age of Mammals began.

-

It didn't take long before civilization crumbled, after the beginning. First America, then Canada and Mexico on the same day, then Central and South, and it spread outwards so quickly that by a month no country truly remained.

Survivors fled inward, away from the seas and oceans, because things were moving in the water, strange things unseen in millennia.

When the earth died, dragons came from their sleep, ready to greet their king.

-

It's autumn, his castle shining in the sun. He created it from nothing, air and will, moonlight and thought. His court, a dozen dragons every color of the rainbow, are spread out in the sunlight, basking like cats.

He knows there are humans high in the mountains; he'll send a few dragons that way in a bit. For now, he just watches them lounge and laugh, glad to be back on the surface.

Once the world is clean, he'll take Hell(_no one knows why he does what he does, baby—we just hope he never looks our way)_.

The largest dragon, a black-scaled behemoth with a name he can't begin to pronounce, raises his head to speak. "Liege," he says in a voice deeper than any the world's heard before. "We hunger."

He nods. "The world is ours," he replies. "Take what you will. I know there are people in the mountains to the west."

The dragon bears his gleaming fangs in a grin. "Thank you, liege."

He crouches back down, growls something at the others, and they all take wing. The king watches them go, tracing their forms with his eyes. His dragons are gorgeous, and his brother would have loved it.

Soon. _(We don't know why it started, or how.) _Soon he'll lead his forces into Hell, and he'll reclaim his brother. _(We don't know how it will end, but it won't be good… not for us.)_

The darkness in him twines deeper, caressing him. "We'll get him back," it says. "Be patient. Our army grows strong, and soon Hell won't be able to stand."

"I know," he answers. "I just…"

"Miss him," the darkness murmurs. "As do I."

-

It's autumn. The trees shed their leaves, carpeting the dirt. Nature is healed; it's been years since the beginning.

Nature is healed, but humanity gone, and he has an army of ghosts at his beck and call. He is ready.

The black, whom he calls Memnoch, is his personal guard, his closest friend in this new world. He climbs onto Memnoch, settling on the long neck.

He stares at the sky for an endless moment, remembering how the world used to be, before he poisoned it to end humanity. He can't recall why he made that decision.

"Come back," the darkness hisses. "It's time."

"Yes," he says. "Time."

Memnoch preens beneath him as he murmurs the words to open Hell's front gate. The rest of the dragons roar when it opens, ripping a tear in reality. The ghosts shriek, streaming around him at his command.

"Let's go," he yells, voice echoing across his empire. Memnoch springs forward, his dragons following.

-

_It began in America. But it spread quickly, and soon all the world had died. From the barren dirt sprang up an empire of ash and blood, an empire ruled by a man with no name. _

_If he had a name, he told none of his followers, creatures of flame and fury, of tooth and claw, of wing. _

_He took Heaven before killing Earth, so all that remained for his conquering was Hell. And he went there, the shades of all his victims as his army, with the dragons._

_-_

"Give him to me," the nameless king demands of Satan, ruler of Hell and the demons.

Inside him, the darkness purrs.

"And I get in return?" Satan asks, standing proud and tall, black wings rustling as he looks past the king to the dragons and ghosts.

"Your life."

-

He returns from Hell empty-handed and cold. He leaves the ghosts there, as he destroys the entire realm with a thought.

"I failed," he whispers, looking out over his flourishing kingdom, at the creatures and plants and sky. "I was too late."

His brother's been gone for over fifteen years and he didn't know. He should've felt it, should have _known_.

"Liege," Memnoch rumbles.

He looks up at his closest friend, at the being his brother would have been delighted to know. Looks past him to the horizon, at the sun that dares to gleam.

"He's gone," the king says, voice barren of all emotion.

"What are you _doing_?" the darkness asks inside him.

"The sun shouldn't shine," the king decides, glaring up at it. "Not if he can't see it."

It stops.


	2. How heroes fought and nations fell

**Title**: How heroes fought and nations fell

**Disclaimer**: if you recognize them, they be not mine; title from Lord Byron

**Warnings**: future!fic; disturbing; torture

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: Rish, I guess?

**Wordcount**: 1000

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: written for blankversesfic in the Anti-Christmas fic-exchange to the prompt _I like the dragon thing. I would love to have them calling each other St. George and running around trying to figure out how to kill a dragon_. This… isn't quite that.

**More notes**: thanks to Creeno for reading over this

* * *

The world ends in fire and there's an iron collar around his neck. _It's your fault, _his keeper hisses. _All your fault. He did this for you_.

The words have no meaning and he groans, the only reply capable of him.

_Shut up, _she snarls, slapping his face. _Shut your filthy mouth. _Her nails dig into the side of his head, raising his chin to look in his eyes. _You're an abomination. I should destroy you, like he's destroyed everything else._

Tears pour down her face and she tightens her hold. He can only stare at her, uncomprehending of whatever led to this moment. He has no memory before her hate.

_I should destroy you, _she repeats. _But that would be too quick. Nowhere near the punishment you deserve._

What is his crime? He doesn't know, can't remember. He did something. He must have, to receive such hate. He wants to ask, but the words dance out of his reach and he's left grasping, mouth open but silent.

_No, _she murmurs, her skin warm against his. _I won't destroy you. You deserve so much more, and I will give it to you._

Her fingers tighten further around his skull and he whimpers, silently pleading for the pain to end. He must have earned it, somehow, but he just can't remember what he did.

o0o

He can't keep track of time; he doesn't even really remember what time is.

_You killed the world_, she says. Said. Yesterday, tomorrow—sometime. Alltime. _You_ _killed the world, you bastard. Because of you, everything is dead_. Her fingers are tight on his face. Were tight. Nails digging in, gauging skin, welling blood. _Everything is dead. Gone. Forever, except for him. And us. And the dragons._

Her breath iswas warm. Fingers cold. He doesn't know what she means, when she speaks. The words are just noise, but her eyes scream at him. Alltime, her eyes scream at him.

Hate. Rage. Despair. Pain.

When she scratches his face, when she howls, when she uses bats and knives and cat o'nine tails, he sees something else, though.

She curses him. She punishes him.

She fears him. Alltime, she fears him.

He wonders what he did to earn that.

o0o

He is sitting in the corner watching his fingers move when the dragon comes. It settles before him, the largest thing he can remember seeing, towering over him at over four times his height. It stares at him with amber eyes, gleaming a dark green.

She ushers it away, saying, _Pay him no mind. He's nothing._

For the first time in memory(however long that is—alltime) the words have meaning.

Watching his fingers move, he smiles.

o0o

_World-killer_, she hisses, carving something on his back. _Abomination. You should never have been born. Or him, that fucking brother of yours. Both of you should've died in the cradle. If your father had balls, he would have killed both of you. Or that bitch-mother. Her womb must've been a portal into Hell._

He understands the words. And for the first time in memory, he feels something besides vague regret.

He still doesn't know what happened, or who he is, or who she is—but he feels… hatred.

His body is weak, so weak. Too weak. He can do nothing but submit and learn more. Wait. Alltime will circle back around, and he will wait.

o0o

The dragon returns, stares at him more. Studies him.

_**What is your name? **_

The first sound he hears besides her is masculine. Powerful. Ancient.

He stares back at the dragon, canting his head. _She calls me many things, _he says.

_**You are familiar to me, **_the dragon muses. _**Have we met before?**_

_I've never left here. _

She rushes in, from wherever she goes when she isn't punishing him, and the dragon follows. He peers back over his shoulder, wings folded tight to fit in the hallway.

o0o

After the dragon goes, she uses the cat o'nine tails again. Until he collapses, gasping, begging for mercy in his mind. He still refuses to speak to her, no matter what she says, what she does.

She doesn't think he has a voice. Thinks it still lost in whatever abyss he'd been cast into, before.

No memory of that time. Only alltime. No memory before her, before here, before alltime.

_Monster_, she snarls. He barely hears her. _You killed everything_. _For you, he burned the world and destroyed the sun._

_o0o_

When the dragon comes a third time, he brings another. Even larger, pure black with silver eyes. The black lowers its head level with his, turning sideways to gaze directly eye-to-eye.

It stares at him for a hundred heartbeats, sniffs him. Reaches out with one talon to trace his cheek. Slices his skin so neatly and slightly it hardly hurts. Gently laps at the blood. Then stares at him for another hundred heartbeats.

They leave before she returns.

o0o

The world ends in fire and there's an iron collar around his neck. She calls him many things, but none of them feel right. None of them call up recognition.

She glares and stalks around him, slapping and cutting and whipping. He takes it all, but something inside is stirring. Waking.

He watches her. Assesses her. She is all he remembers, all he knows.

He hates her. With everything he has, he hates her.

o0o

The large black dragon returns with a rider, the first human besides his torturer he can remember seeing. The man is tall and broad with floppy brown hair and flashing green eyes tinted yellow. The man kneels beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder, firm fingers on his face.

_Dean_, the man gasps. _Oh, god, Dean_.

He just stares at the man. Nothing about him is familiar.

_It's me_, the man says. _Sammy_.

Sammy's eyes drop to the collar and his face tightens. He bares his teeth. _That bitch. That traitorous fucking bitch-whore._

He touches the collar and it burns, falls away.

o0o

Deep inside, something keens and rights itself.

_I'm Dean. _


End file.
